


a landscape of amiable codgers

by daddygrandpaandthebeaver (CourtneyCourtney)



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Drabble Collection, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtneyCourtney/pseuds/daddygrandpaandthebeaver
Summary: An assortment of Stanchez drabbles I've posted on Tumblr





	1. an eye for an eye

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dabbling in writing Stanchez since last April. Since my blog archive is getting bigger, I decided to put them (all three of 'em right now, LOL) in one place so they're easier for people to find.
> 
> Additional tags/warnings/spoilers based on the individual story will be added at the start of each chapter.
> 
> Title is a paraphrased Arthur Danto quote (based on context, I think he was criticizing Norman Rockwell, but I can't find a legit source so I open the floor to any armchair art critics out there)

 

First posted [on April 22, 2016](http://daddygrandpaandthebeaver.tumblr.com/post/143246952332/fic-an-eye-for-an-eye)

 **Context** : [stanchez-sloppy-seconds](https://tmblr.co/mlBEMR4kcey18rT9D-uykYA) dreamt up a ridiculous, gloriously high-concept [“Kill Bill” AU](http://stanchez-sloppy-seconds.tumblr.com/tagged/kill-bill-au) which I was all on board with (maybe too on board with, given how into writing this dumb demon Dorito I got).

 **Warnings** : Explicit violence; blood and mild gore; emotional manipulation; Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion

 

 

“… Stan? _Lee_?”

 ** _This_**. This is the moment Bill has been waiting for since he heard Rick was back among the land of the living. Because there’s this look in Rick’s eyes that Bill is 99% sure the humans call _hope_. There’s this little, tiny moment where _the_ Rick Sanchez is looking at him and thinking Stan Pines is Stan Pines like the sky is blue and everything in the world is just hunky dory once more since this meatsuit is still in one piece and not exhibiting signs of demonic possession. Rick makes this tiny choking sob noise, like something is trapped in his throat. This moment is the zenith of bullshit, and Bill wants to live in it forever.

Next comes the trepidation, and Bill loves that, too. It’s too good to be true, and Rick knows it. Rick was always his best agent, after all. The best of any best has nothing on Bill Cipher, though.

He lets his eyes shine through, a sickly yellow like the rest of fading sunlight, and raises two fingers to pantomime a gun. That’s when Rick’s expression finally hardens, hand gripping his gun with white knuckles like the pro Bill knows Rick to be.

“Welcome to the final level, Sanchez,” Bill cackles, reveling in the stricken look on Rick’s face when the demon’s voice comes out of Stan’s body. “Took you long enough, killer.” He flicks his fingers. “Bang _bang_.”

Rick falls to one knee in the sand, then drops to the other. Bill’s grin continues to grow.

 

*****

 

Bill Cipher is surrounded by idiots; he isn’t saying that’s the way he likes it. God knows he could use a good fight, likes a body with a little _brain_ to it, but this is just a detour. This isn’t the destination. 

But man, it’s just so much fun to watch them dance.

It’s fun to watch this loser – Stan, Stanley Pines, wayward con artist brother, stealer of withered, blood-soaked hearts, apparently – light up as he recognizes this meatbag. Jimmy Snakes, his papers said, and Bill has been rolling with it, has apparently made the right call since Stan is clapping him on the back and inviting him into the church.

He listens, intrigued, as Stan introduces ‘him’ to the group gathered here, an old biker friend from Stan’s youth. “What are the odds?” Stan laughs.

Bill eyes Rick warily, wondering if he’ll find it strange as well, but his former best agent has eyes only for the Pines. The most wanted man in this galaxy and the next looks at Stan fondly, and Bill makes his body’s face smile. Rick doesn’t have a fucking clue. _Dumb dumb da dumb._

It’s disgusting, how far Rick has fallen away from Bill’s organization. Who is this weak, pathetic sap standing before him? _So_ frustrating. Bill wants to be shouting, wants to be shaking him and asking why his guard is so far down. Doesn’t he know who’s standing before him? Doesn’t he see what’s about to happen to this idyllic scene? Rick doesn’t get to paint the pictures. Rick doesn’t get to pull these strings. Bill does. And Bill is better than that, infinitely smarter than that, and so he keeps silent and grins.

He gets them off to the side, Jim’s body and Stan, still tangentially part of the group but separate enough for people to take a hint and let them talk alone.

“Stan, what do you even know about this guy?” Bill inquires in a hushed tone, casual as possible. He gets the voice to sound concerned, masking his blatant attempt at fishing for info. Maybe he knows about Bill, maybe he doesn’t. Either way, he’ll know soon enough.

Stan takes the bait, frowning. “Hey man, Rick doesn’t want to talk much about the past, and that’s just fine with me,” Stan says, defensively. Bill holds back a smirk. Skin that thin is always fun to crawl under. “Whatever’s waiting back there for him is worth the here and now.”

Stan elbows Jimmy’s body in the ribs. “God knows I’ve got enough skeletons in this old closet of mine, right? Whatever he’s hiding can join my junk.”

Bill laughs. “Sounds like a perfect match then.” He can’t wait to unleash whatever hell Stan’s cryptic bullshit hints at.

“Well,” Bill continues, straightening the body up to full height. He talks half a backward step toward the still-ajar door, making his feigned intent clear. “I have to hit the road again, was just stopping by to see if the rumors were true.” He fake smiles half-apologetically. “I wouldn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

Stan smiles back, shaking his head.

Bill makes Jimmy’s steps falter, moving half a step closer and back into Stan’s personal space. He pretends to think about his next offer, like he really doesn’t want to impose. Stan falls for it again, hook, line and sinker.

Reaching out, Bill has Jim shake Stan’s hand. That’s a thing humans do when they’re leaving, right? He claps a hand on Stan’s opposite bicep, just for good measure.

“I’m happy for you, man. Look, what do you say to one last deal before you become an honest man?”

Stan looks him in the eyes and stops, just for a moment. A strange look crosses his face before Stan is smiling again, hand still clasped in Jim’s. “What kind of deal are we talking, Snakes?”

Bill tries to keep the amusement out of his voice. He thinks he nails it, for the most part. “Can I borrow you for a second?”

Stan spares a look for the rest of the group, currently chatting amongst themselves before nodding. “Sure thing, pal.”

Bill grins. “Perfect.” His hand burns with blue fire, engulfing Stan’s hand as well.

As soon as the switch is complete, Bill smiles and slashes Jimmy Snakes’ throat with telekinesis and a two-finger motion. Call Bill a Bridezilla, but he isn’t about to let anyone step on his big moment.

“… Stan?”

The transition all happens so fast, the rest of the congregation doesn’t seem to have noticed. Rick noticed, though. Finally got that superior brain of his kicked into high gear. He’s looking at Stan now with concern but also a touch of fear. What a novel look. Bill makes sure to savor it before smiling back, turning to address everyone.

“Well, well, well,” says Bill, rubbing his hands together and surveying the scene with new eyes. “Isn’t this quaint?” He’s almost upset by how quickly this is going to go down. It’s definitely the most fun he’s going to have in eons. His new, broad hands glow yellow with flames, and someone finally gasps in shock. Took ‘em long enough.

Rick growls. “ _Bill_.” 

“The one and only!” Bill crows, hands splayed out in tried-and-true gloating fashion. “Hope you don’t mind your fiancé becoming the ‘something borrowed’ here, but hey, what are humans without your little traditions?”

Rick makes a strangled shout and lunges for Bill. With a click of his fingers, Bill pins him in thin air. He freezes the rest of the guests as well - only fair, he figures, to let them in on the excitement - and with a flick of the wrist flings everyone up in the air. Partygoers always did make excellent playthings, all dressed up thinking and they have somewhere important to go. True, the ones attending this party are certainly headed somewhere special once Bill’s done with his spectacle, but how would they know that? _Humans_. 

“Uh uh ah,” Bill sneers, shaking one of Stan’s thick fingers in Rick’s direction.  “You’ve made it this far; don’t tell me you want to play the runaway bride now.”

Rick’s hands clench into fists despite the powerful paralysis mojo Bill has working right now. His expression darkens even further. “W-what the _fuck_ do you want, Bill?” Body language aside, his voice is flat, almost bored and expectant. If that doesn’t warrant what Bill has planned next, he doesn’t know what does.

“Are you kidding me?” Bill shrieks before cackling right in his former assassin’s face. “You didn’t really think I would let you go that easily, did you, Slick Rick? Did you seriously think the most powerful, nigh-omnipotent crime lord in the multiverse wouldn’t _find you?_ Sheesh, you humans are even dumber than you look.”

With another twist of Stan’s arm, Bill drops everyone to the ground, relishing the crunch of bones and the smack of flesh. He leaves them alone for a moment. Anything still moving and capable of crawling toward the exit is in for a surprise anyway. Bill only cares that he still has Rick’s undivided attention. Time to make the man of the hour squirm a bit. 

“It would have been _so easy_ for me to barge in here in any random meatsuit and slaughter you all,” Bill explains, jerking a thumb to Jimmy and his pool of blood. “But where’s the pageantry in that? This is my favorite former agent’s wedding we’re talking about! Gotta make it a night to remember, Ricky!” 

“I hope you don’t mind,” he continues, “but I invited a few friends of my own.” Bill drops his voice to a stage whisper, pulling Rick closer. “Just between you and me, they were pret-ty pissed about the lack of invitations. Not everyone in this business is as forgiving as me.”

Bill doesn’t turn, doesn’t actually acknowledge the group forming behind him. He doesn’t have to. He hears five sets of footsteps, feels Morty, Unity, Gideon, and Zeep gather around him. Rick’s face goes almost as white as his hair.

“See, NOW it’s a party!” Bill announces. “Who’s ready to begin the ceremony?”

The Birdperson lying near the piano goes down first. After him, the guests go like dominoes, most of them kicking and screaming, just the way Bill likes it. It makes the blood spatter in such interesting ways, at such interesting angles. He watches adoringly as the walls turn red, as the hall goes dead. Stan’s hands are stained and sticky, and Bill wishes he could remember the light leaving every eye he gazed into.

Rick doesn’t give him the satisfaction of begging or crying, but he looks plenty small, plenty broken even before Bill has Stan put a bullet in Rick’s head.

Bill smiles, satisfied with this end, with another loose thread plucked and kept from unraveling. “So, who’s up for a drink? What say you we have a toast to the happy couple, huh?”

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” says Beth Smith from the back of the church. She doesn’t wait to see if anyone follows her before turning on a heel and out the door. The rest of the guild follows her anyway, leaving Bill alone to revel in the gore. He shrugs and lets them go. So long as they don’t wander as far as Rick, who is Bill to keep them from other unfinished business?

Bill walks out of the Two Pines Chapel whistling. There’s nothing quite like a job well done to put a spring in his step. Might as well take this body for a whirl. He’s pretty sure the keys for this junk car in his pants pocket.

 

*****

 

It’s easy to lay low in the desert. Nobody gives a shit. Weird things happen here all the time and nobody investigates.

Still, it’s too early to raise suspicions, too early for Bill to reveal to full extent of his powers to this neck of the woods while there’s still a manhunt underway for the Two Pines Chapel Massacre instigator. It’s not fun, but everyone else got the hell out of dodge and much as Bill wants to he isn’t going to linger at the crime scene. It’s way less satisfying, seeing every dissected detail on a grainy TV screen or smudgy newsprint, but it will have to do. Bill wants to hang onto this trophy just a mite longer.

Bill is pulling over for the night, searching the Stanleymobile for spare change to complete his intended motel room rent when he finds it. A coaster in the glove compartment with ‘FORD’ and a phone number scrawled on it and oh, isn’t this just a riot and a half?

He calls once he has a place for the night with a phone booth, waiting with baited breath for the ringing to stop, for a gruff, familiar “Hello?” from the other end.

“Did you miss me, Sixer?” Bill’s one regret in this instant is that he can’t see Ford’s face. He hopes Poindexter is crying.

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end. “Who is this?” Ford’s tone betrays the fact that he knows exactly who it is.

“Come on, Fordsy,” Bill says, “you don’t recognize your own, dearest twin brother?” He smirks against the receiver. “Listen, I know you couldn’t make it to the wedding today, but I just wanted to thank you, for making _all of this_ possible.”

The line goes dead. Coward. Bill stands there with the phone for a second before he busts up laughing.

 

*****

 

Ford did something. Bill fully intended to trek up to Oregon and finish off Stan’s body where all of this started, symmetry and all that jazz. But that fleshy idiot did something that sent Stan’s body flying back across the state lines when Bill set his foot in the Pacific Northwest. Whatever the fool did, it knocked himself, Pine Tree, and Shooting Star off the grid. Sixer always was such a killjoy.

That’s OK, though. Bill writes to him. Gotta keep his former protégée in the loop with these kinds of things. He hopes Ford recognizes the handwriting.

Back into the desert Bill goes. It’s for the best, he supposes. Crisscrossing the country seems to keep any intergalactic authorities off his back. (God forbid the Council of Ricks picks up on him.) Limited omniscience goes a long way in keeping tabs on his agents, and Beth Smith is basically one with her phone these days. If Bill can talk to her, he can talk to anyone.

 

*****

 

“Now, I know I said ‘borrow,’ _but_ , I’m thinking, what if I hang out here a little bit longer? What says you, Pine Box? Not like you’re using this brain much these days.”

The nebulous static fuzz in the back of this body’s head grows a tiny bit stronger. Bill grins. He knows it’s Pines, but the old geezer is still too weak to verbalize anything. There was so much screaming back at the chapel, jagged and sharp like claws inside this skull while Bill painted the town red, but it basically futzed out after Bill finished his masterpiece using Sanchez’s forehead.

He’s pleasantly surprised something is left of Stan, though. Bill does like a little fight.

 

***** 

 

Morty wants to smother Rick in his sleep. He’s got a one-track mind, ready to kill at the jerk of a knee. Bill likes where this kid’s mind is at, but he still feels obligated to talk him out of him. The guy’s as good as dead, but Bill is getting kind of a kick out of watching him wither from the inside out. Four years is the blink of an eye to Bill, but it’s funny how time moves so _slow_ for these silly humans. It will be even funnier when Rick flatlines.

Besides, Bill isn’t willing to lose Beth. She’s the one keeping these weirdos together, bizarre as it seems to Bill. But everyone likes her and does what she says (which is usually exactly what Bill wants from her). Bill usually likes her and what she says, too, but she can be too tough for his liking, especially on _this_ , on refusing to pull the plug on her godforsaken father.

“ _Fine_ ,” Bill tells Beth when she stands before him once more with her mouth set in a grim line. “It’s money out of your pocket. He’s nothing more than a husk, anyway.”  Her eyes burn in a way that has Bill maneuvering Stan’s body past her, bumping Beth on the shoulder mid-exit to exert dominance the only way he knows how. She doesn’t budge.

Bill doesn’t understand why she would want to hold on to this dead weight that betrayed her. He’s told her and the whole Smith family so, sowing the seeds of malcontent for four years now. They’re better off without Rick; that’s the whole point of this fucking operation. Bill doesn’t understand why Beth is holding on to this loser that left her as a kid and only came back when she was useful to him, when she was old enough to recruit into Bill’s organization. Humans are messed up like that. But Beth gets what she wants, and as long as she doesn’t get in Bill’s way he lets her have it. 

Besides, he has Summer and Morty now. This girl is better, more than capable of filling Rick’s spot of being more mechanical killer than compassionate human, but Morty has this raw hatred that’s pretty nifty. The kids have sworn granddaddy dearest will be dead on sight if anything ever rouses him from that coma, and Bill blesses their coal-black hearts for it.

 

*****

 

This body cuts a figure, Bill will admit. It’s like an inverted triangle, almost, broad shoulders perfect for muscling people out of the way. Stan’s blunt, scarred knuckles keep the most inquisitive people in these parts at bay. He’s fairly well muscled, for an old dude, and Bill can definitely throw his weight around with this meatsuit. The aching, popping joints are a definite drawback, but Bill can ignore those, can shrug off the pain like a static shock. With this body, he has it made in the shade.

(The broad shoulders are more than perfect for fitted, tacky print shirts. Bill cleans one small town thrift shop out of everything bearing triangles. Nobody bats an eye.)

He’s definitely holding onto this body, Bill decides.  It’s rare that he sticks with any one more than a month, five weeks at most. Bodies and faces are too recognizable, are better to swap out to keep anyone from pinning a face to a name to a crime. But this is too good to let go.

(He half hopes to make it on the news someday, a blurry figure on the edge of a photo, an unnamed suspect wanted for his string of murders, if only to get a rise out of Ford, to give Rick another punch in the gut provided he ever wakes up. Spite gives Bill such a rush.)

 

*****

 

Bill isn’t an idiot; he realizes keeping Rick at bay is predicated on a lot of minor things. It’s trivial things like Zeep Xanflorp’s arrogance, matched only by Rick’s. Like Squanchy being missing, presumed dead, and unlikely to turn up to ‘help’ his friend. Like Unity’s sheer magnitude, although the lingering threat of _feelings_ for the old man that may or may not flare up set Bill’s metaphorical teeth on edge.

The remaining Smiths are the best Bill has, but he can’t rely too much on them, not if they’re most likely bound to implode once grandpa starts his Roaring Rampage of Revenge. They’ve cut out their emotions pretty damn well up to now, but Bill knows how fallible humans can be.

Still, a shit-ton of stars will have to align for Rick to kill Bill, and let’s face it, when has anything every worked out 100% for Rick Sanchez?

 

*****

 

Somewhere along the way, the static fuzz became a hum, and the hum became a howl. The howl is starting to produce words, and it’s annoying beyond all belief. 

“ _… die…”_

“I,” Bill thinks back crisply as he thumbs through a stack of cash, “am not going anywhere, Pines.”

“ _… Rick… kill…”_

“What’s that, you want me to kill Rick? Oh ho ho, just think about how you’re gonna get to do those honors if we ever meet up.”

“ _… revenge… REvenGE…”_

Bill sighs. “That’s wonderful. Let me know when you’re ready to converse, it’s been so boring up here lately.”

 

*****

 

Bill isn’t an idiot; he realizes keeping Rick at bay is still predicated on a lot of minor things.

He’s thinking he should have kept the Smiths on shorter leashes, since Beth returning to him with one arm is kind of when shit hits the fan, but things could be going worse. Morty’s still out there, potential to be a spanner in the works. Gideon’s predictably going to be a puny coward and have Snake Eyes take care of Rick if or when they cross paths.

Provided Rick even makes it to him, there’s no way he can kill Bill, not without dicing up Stan’s meatsuit in the process. Bill isn’t leaving this body without a fight, and even if Rick did get him out, Bill wouldn’t be going anywhere, not without the world’s most specifically-tailored demon-killing blade.

It’s a tall order, if Bill says so himself. In what universe, let alone this one, would Stanford Pines help Rick Sanchez?

Stan’s body is insurance now, though. Just in case the stars keep on aligning for Sanchez, just in case his spirit still needs crushing when they reunite. 

 

*****

 

(“Rick misses me,” a clear voice whispers in the dark of night, “but his aim is getting better.”

(“Just for that,” Bill hisses back, “I’m taking you and this body down with me.”)

 

***** 

 

“Oh man,” Bill laughs, Rick continuing to kneel in the sand, “did you think was a vengeance mission? That’s _hilarious_. You _wish_ I was that unsadistic. It’s actually great that you brought a sword, because this is just going to be me twisting the knife in your wound for a few more hours.” 

Rick snarls and snaps back to his feet. He doesn’t drop the gun, but he does unsheathe the sword. Bill gets his first good look at the weapon, admiring the craftsmanship for a moment before noticing the familiar six-fingered insignia near the hilt.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Bill says.

“T-that’s the plan, d- _urp_ -dicksmack,” Rick replies.

“Well, sure,” says Bill, shrugging, “but I think you and I both know I’m not leaving without a fight. What you gonna do with that fancy knickknack until then, huh? You’re not gonna cut this handsome face.” Bill stands to approach Rick, swaggering toward the shore. “Or are you? Because if so, let me show you how it’s done.”

Rick pulls back a smidge, but Bill moves faster. He runs Stan’s right hand across the blade, letting the blood flow freely. It spills heavy into the sand between them. Pain – man, pain is still the most hilarious. That gash is nasty. Bill wants to do it again, moves to do it again, but Rick scowls darkly and takes a good-sized step back.

“You already talk too much, Nacho Chip.” His voice is hard as ever, but the subtle slouch of his shoulders betrays Rick. It gives Bill an idea. “Never k-knew something that – urp – loved the sound of its own v-voice so fucking much.”

“You’re tired, old man,” Bill taunts, circling his former ally. “I’ll take that, while we’re at it,” he adds, using his telekinetic powers to pull the gun from Rick’s grip and toss it out to sea.

“You’ve come so far,” Bill continues. “Used up _so_ much time and energy getting your revenge against your former friends, _family_. There’s no shame in giving up here, now.” He puts Stan’s bloody hands in his pockets, aiming for an air of indifference. “Now what say you we discuss this, man to man? I can think of a pretty sweet bargain or two for you, Labcoat.”

Rick barks a laugh, spittle flying in Bill’s face.  “Y-yeah, bargaining with a, with a demented, s-swindling space demon possessing the best con artist w-west of the Mississippi, yeah. Fat f-f-fucking chance.”

Bill rolls his eyes, ignoring the triumphant crow Stan’s voice makes at _the best_ description of his pathetic career trajectory. The best of any best has nothing on Bill Cipher.

He smiles, sidling closer to Rick. “Now, now, Rick. I’m feeling pretty generous tonight.”

“Oh - urp - shit,” Rick mutters under his breath. The smile grows on Stan’s face.

“That’s right,” Bill continues, cocking his head. “I am _completely_ willing to let go of Deadwood here, leave him completely intact, horrid, rotted memories and all _if…”_

It’s Rick’s turn to roll his eyes and sigh in frustration. “What.”

“ _If_ ,” Bill continues, smile stretching into something truly wicked and twisted. “I get to possess you instead. Think about it, Labcoat. You clearly value _this_  meatsuit more than your own. You haven’t lost your touch when it comes to killing.” He feels his eyes burning red, cherishes the purely distraught look on Rick’s face. “You can never, _ever_  be rid of me. You - or, what’s left of you - will work for me one way or another.” He steps back, hands presented palms out in the falsest of promises. “Stanley, though? Say the word, and he walks free.”

Rick looks like he considers it for a second before baring the sword once more. “Nope, t-time to die.”

Bill sighs. “ _Again_ with the dying. Shit  _doesn’t work that way_ , remember? Or are you as senile as what’s left of Pines? You have two, count ‘em, _two_  options, Sanchez. Choose wisely.”

The former assassin smirks. It’s as sharp and deadly as any weapon in his arsenal. “T-that’s where you’re _wrong_ , Cipher.”

Bill throws Stan’s hand up in the air, mocking Rick. “Oo, what are you going to do? What trick does the amazing Rick Sanchez have up his sleeve this time? Gonna catchphrase me to death? ‘Til I’m riggity riggity wrecked? Are things about to get Rick-diculous?”

“Oh, you fucking know it,” Rick replies, and then he’s moving, too fast for Bill to stop, faster than Bill gave his fragile old meatsuit credit for. He punches Stan’s chest four, five, _six_ , and then it’s _Bill_ being punched. It’s like a lead weight crunching through him, pushing him backwards through a narrow, squeezing tunnel, pushing him down and _out_.

Bill sees Stan’s body fall to the beach beneath him. Bill floats up, _realizes_ he’s floating, his vision reverting to a single eye possessed by a simple triangle.  Huh.

“I - urp - t-told you you talked too much.” Bill looks down on Rick, and yeah, alright, the bastard has a point. The final rays of setting sun glint off steel, and a six-fingered insignia flashes bronze to taunt him one last time.


	2. one of these things (is not like the other)

 

First posted [Sept. 21, 2016](http://daddygrandpaandthebeaver.tumblr.com/post/150758937727/fic-one-of-these-things-is-not-like-the-other)

**Warnings** : "Gravity Falls" series finale spoilers; implied, maybe-it-happened-maybe-it-didn’t Rick Sanchez/Stan _ford_ Pines; identity issues

 

 

Stan just… wonders, sometimes.

It’s a lot for an old man to process, he thinks self-deprecatingly. It’s a lot, losing his memories in a last-minute bid to win the apocalypse then regaining them slowly, painstakingly as the weeks roll into months. It’s a lot, would be a lot even without Rick being… well, _Rick_.

And then _he_ had come back, barreling and blasting into Stan’s life in a way that was apparently habit, as easily as he took sips from his flask. It was a trip ( _It always is with Sanchez, isn’t it?_ part of Stan’s foggy mind chuckles). Re-meeting and relearning his old partner, how they slotted together in Stan’s former life. It was exciting. It was nice to learn he had someone who appreciated him back in the rocky days, Stan found. Scraps of time slowly floated back to him, fragments of scenes. The way Rick preferred waffles to pancakes. How to decipher his slurred speech and drunk rambling. The press of his bony fingers against Stan’s bare skin.

It was nice, knowing someone who used to want Stan when he was wandering and lonely still wanted him now, still came around for company or cover or whatever Stan could give at the moment.

The pleasant feeling sinks and twists in his gut the first time he sees Rick take out a sci-fi prop gun and _whoosh_ open a glowing green portal on the Mystery Shack’s back lawn.

It’s a trip, learning (re-learning? Stan doesn’t remember this part, doesn’t find Rick prodding him with questions about _these_ types of adventures) about dimension hopping. Learning that this sort of mumbo-jumbo exists, that every universe has some kind of equivalent, it’s… something else, Stan marvels. It’s exciting. It’s… uncanny, maybe. Maybe Ford would appreciate it more for science-y crap. Maybe Stan’s gotten too old and soft for this, his brother’s memory gun blasting away his sense of adventure and determination.

At any rate it’s because of Ford, Stan decides. See, as a twin you get used to not feeling as special, as unique a person as maybe some other schmuck on the street. There’s more than one of you. There’s a better Stan, one who is smarter, one who his family had liked better. There’s more than one of you, and if you mess up you can get cut off at the snap of someone’s fingers. You can swap clothes and fool a god itself.

(You can impersonate your brother thirty years, live in his home, answer to his name, and no one will notice when ‘you’ turn up dead in a ditch.)

It’s a bit of a rude awakening, Stan finds, knowing Rick has by now encountered hundreds if not thousands of other Stanley Pines.

It’s a short skip from that train of thought to wondering about other Stanford Pines.  Knowing his brother, Stan doubts Rick ever found solace in _this_ Ford if ever their paths crossed. The two interact here and now like hissing cats, intellectual insults flying in lieu of claws.

Still, he wonders about other Stanfords, if Rick found one he got along with better, one to help and challenge him with his research. Did Rick know Stan had a twin? Would they have met by accident, by mistaken identity? Did Rick ever look at those multitudes of almost-identical faces and miss _him_ , _this_ Stan Pines? Or did he even care? Were they all the same to him?

(It isn’t really Ford’s fault, Stan knows, but he still can’t help feeling mad at him.)

The thoughts nag at the back of his mind like so many memories these days. Did he and Rick have this conversation already? How would it have gone if they did? Stan got angry, probably, he decides, got jealous and swung his favorite words like brass knuckles destined to break bone. Rick would get defensive, he thinks, or maybe he’d shut down and put up that caustic, careless front and talk about how nothing means anything in the ‘grand scheme of things.’ 

Does it matter if they had that conversation already, Stan wonders, when he couldn’t remember and would probably need to bring it up again anyway?

Stan shakes the cobwebs and doubts out of his mind, chasing them off for the night being with a metaphorical raised fist. Someday, maybe, they’ll actually talk about it, when he isn’t feeling like a confused coward. Right now, though, he isn’t going to push his luck. He’s Stan Pines, the best version of Stan Pines he can be right now, and the one version of Stan Pines this Rick Sanchez keeps coming back to.


	3. An S&P-Approved Tentacle Encounter

First posted [Jan. 10, 2017](http://daddygrandpaandthebeaver.tumblr.com/post/155660506232/fic-an-sp-approved-tentacle-encounter)

 **Context** : Tentacle Tuesday happened on the Stanchez slack community. That's... all the explanation you need, really.

 **Warnings** : CRACK; a sexually-suggestive situation that doesn't go anywhere; one single swear word

 

 

The tentacle monster is hideously neon-colored, to start with. It’s predominantly orange, its body and appendages splashed with other garish hues like hot pink and lime green and electric blue. It’s probably a mating thing, Rick thinks, a display to attract members of the opposite (same? What are genders amongst these things? What does it matter) sex to reproduce and stuff. Still, regardless of science, it’s hurting Rick’s eyes. He had been hoping for something more flesh-colored, something that didn’t remind him of a trip on Alpha-Vega-Four in the early ‘90s or a sweater Stan’s niece would sport (and that’s probably not a comparison Rick should draw before he tries to get Stan to get banged by it), but he guesses this will suffice. It’s the only tentacle monster they’ve been able to find.

Rick isn’t super optimistic, though. He can’t currently see any holes or openings. The thing has these big eyes, too, flipping anime-type-BS. It’s more cute than sexy. It also just kind of… floats in the air, hovering slightly off the ground. It does this little bob thing in his and Stan’s direction and salutes with three limbs when Stan grumbles an awkward “hello” at it. Rick’s hoping it only _looks_ ultra innocent; again, not super optimistic, but he’s seen enough hentai to not automatically assume the worst.

Stan has not, apparently. “Are you kidding me, Rick?” his boyfriend whispers, angling his body in so the tentacle creature isn’t tempted to feel included in this conversation. “Who’d want make the beast with two backs with that?”

“Look who, who’s talking,” says Rick before he can stop himself. He quickly reaches up with his left arm to slap Stan on the shoulder. “Heyyyy, I kid, I kid.”

Stan screws his face up into something sour regardless. “If I wasn’t making you do this on your own before, I sure as shooting am now.”

Rick grins. “Oh- _ho_ , you wanna watch. Didn’t t-take you for that type, Miiister Disney, but with your permission…”

Stan balls his hands up into fists but only gives Rick a blistering eye roll.

“Fine,” says Rick, sauntering away from his boyfriend and toward the tentacle monster, “stay over here outta t-the splash zone. Let a, let a pr- _urp_ \- professional show you how i-it’s done.”

The tentacle monster waves at Rick as he approaches. It’s open to his advances in one way, Rick reasons, a swagger in his step. Things are looking favorable.

“Alright, big guy,” Rick says, stretching out a hand. “We, we gonna do the foooreplay or…”

The tentacle monster wraps one appendage around Rick’s wrist. “Heyyy, bingo.”

His next move is, in retrospect, maybe a bit presumptuous. There’s culture stuff that needs to be sorted out in any interspecies dalliance, but forget that, Rick thinks sometimes. He isn’t getting any younger.

With the hand that the tentacle monster isn’t caressing, Rick reaches down and undoes the zipper of his pants.

With a free appendage, the tentacle monster reaches down and zips it back up.

Rick stands there for a full minute, too stunned to move. He reaches down again and unzips his pants.

Again, the tentacle monster reaches down and zips them back up.

Rick stares at his fly, then squints up at the tentacle monster. “O-one of us is drastically confused about, about what is happening here.”

He pretends not to hear Stan snickering behind him.

Rick takes his hands away from his pants, instead reaching up to touch (what he assumes is) the creature’s facial area. “I,” he explains slowly. “Would like _you_. To smush. Me.”

At this, the tentacle monster makes an enraged shrieking noise and waves all its appendages. It doesn’t hurt beyond a mild sting – the thing is more mucus than muscle, apparently – but Rick finds himself flailing backwards with a face full of goo… and not in the good way.

“Rick!”

He’s a bit preoccupied with wiping off his eyes, but Rick doesn’t need to look to know Stan is rushing to his defense. His boyfriend had better sock that mother-hugger extra good for him.

There’s a broad hand on his shoulder, and Rick’s vision clears Stan is hovering above him, concern etched across his wrinkly face. “You okay?”

Rick scoffs. “Of course I-I’m not okay,” he replies as Stan helps him to his feet. “I’m still fully-clothed.”

Stan huffs. “We can work on that later,” he says before his expression turns stormy. He squares up, turning to glare at the tentacle monster. “You, on the other hand, oughta be dealt with now…”

The tentacle thing wrings a few of its limbs together. _Good_ , thinks Rick, _it had better be fragging nervous._

Stan stretches a hand out toward it. “Shake,” he says. “Or be shaken.”

Again, the tentacle monster wraps one appendage around the man’s wrist. It pulses there for a moment. Then all at once its mass is moving, arms and arms and arms pulling Stan into a hug. It makes a weird squishing noise; Rick can hear Stan’s disgusted groans mixed in with the mess.

“Huh,” says Rick, slightly thrown by the sight before him. “It hugs.” What the flip.

“… Freak,” Rick says aloud, realization of their situation slowly dawning on him. “Fudgesicles. Ffffforeign affairs, what the _flip_.”

Frantically, he pats the pockets of his lab coat for his flask. Nothing. He rifles through the pockets of his pants and comes up empty as well.

He whips around to point an accusing finger at Stan and the tentacle thing currently cuddling his boyfriend. “ _You_.”

“Me what?” Stan grunts. He leans away from the monster’s face as much as its embrace will allow.

“It’s your fault that _thing_ isn’t, isn’t g-going to plow us,” Rick says, giving it an accusatory poke. “It’s going to - _urp_ \- to lead us on some, some bull moose Mouskateer quest to gather, gather tools and stuff and sssolve a p-problem with the power of friendship!”

The tentacle monster floats a bit further off the ground, pulses, then starts glowing.

“ _Unbelievable_ ,” says Rick. “I’m out.”

“Hey,” barks Stan, still swaddled as he is by the creature’s arms. “You can’t leave me here with this weirdo.”

“Well then make it _do something_ ,” Rick huffs, turning back toward his boyfriend with palms raised. “Make it do… ma-make it get frrrreaky, Stan. It’s your c-censorship to push, paaal. Make things weird. Come on, I believe, I believe in you. Faith, t-trust, and pixie dust. Some of that mumbo jumbo.”

“Ohohoho, _no_ ,” Stan replies, “this is on you, Rick. I didn’t want jack to do with this guy. You’re the one who walked up to it and decided we were going to flip it.”

Rick throws his hands up. “It d- _urp_ \- doesn’t matter which one of us wanted to flip the tentacle monster!”

“Because it was _you_ ,” Stan snipes back.

“No!” Rick shakes his head. “I mean, yes, it w-was me. Flip. It’s on… it’s on youuu because it’s yo-your network. Which, by the way, Stan, wh-what kind of, kind of TV-G network is gonna have a te-tentacle monster? I mean, even… even one tentacle mooonster, that doesn’t make, make any sense.”

Rick stops his mouth for a second while his brain works over his own words. It’s the only tentacle monster they’ve been able to find. It’s the only tentacle monster they’ve been able to find on a kid-friendly business model…

“No, flip no,” Rick groans. “Don’t tell me we have to _Finding Nemo_ this artichoke. We’re not, we’re not reuniting a ten-tentacle monster with its, it’s l-long-lost family. That’s too much, too much pathos for a _marble-flinging tentacle monster_.”

Stan frowns down at Rick. Then he turns his head to make eye contact with the tentacle creature.

“Heh,” says Stan. “You lost your family, pal?” The tentacle thing stops glowing, and its long eyelashes droop ever so slightly.

“I know what that’s like,” Stan continues, voice so soft Rick can barely hear him. The tentacle monster starts to purr.

Rick sighs, covering his face with his hands. “You’re gonna to make me do the, the freaking quest, aren’t you?”

When he looks, Stan is smirking back at him. “Oh, you’d better bleeping believe it, buddy.”

Maybe there’s a silver lining to all this, Rick decides with another, longer sigh. Maybe all of its family is dead and this one is last of its kind. Maybe then he can get it to fuck him.


End file.
